As the night falls so does the splendid shadow of my pen,
leaving traces on the paper as they kiss each other now and then.
Words conspire the chit-chat loudly,
though my diary had been wrapping my mysteries
since long, very proudly.
My tears and smiles,
my dreams and turmoils.
The name of your's though was never said,
but it was you and only you my prose ever had.